Far Series | Book 3 | Far From Lost

by Mary, Kate L.

  I couldn’t tell from my position if either of the other two women were conscious, and at first, I was too stunned to utter a word. Then movement caught my eye—not in the truck, but outside—and I snapped out of it. A figure was approaching.

  “Lisa,” I hissed.

  She moaned but said nothing.

  “Lane?”

  No response.

  My gaze was locked on the approaching figure, my eyes squinting against the brightness as I shifted, trying to get my hands on my gun. It was tucked against my side, pinned to my body by the seatbelt, and unreachable from this angle.

  The figure moved closer, backlit by the sun and making it impossible to see more than its shape. It wasn’t big—smaller than I was. A child zombie, maybe?

  Knowing I needed to free myself, I turned my attention to the buckle, my fingers pressing clumsily at the button as I stared at the figure, refusing to look away. Two seconds and the seatbelt came free, and I fell, my hands going out on instinct, landing in a heap of sore limbs. Shards of glass and sharp metal cut into my palms and knees, but I ignored the pain and pulled my gun free, standing with it raised and aimed.

  My finger was already on the trigger when the figure moved a little to the left, blocking out the sun and suddenly coming into view, and a jolt of surprise shot through me. It wasn’t a zombie. It was a kid. A boy.

  “Hey!” He lifted his hands, his eyes widening at the sight of me. “Don’t shoot. I just came to see if you were okay. That looked like a bad accident.”

  I let the air out of my lungs in a violent burst and lowered my gun. “I thought you were a zombie.”

  The kid looked over his shoulder then refocused on me. “No, but they’re coming. You need to get out.”

  Lisa chose that moment to let out another moan, and relief flooded me when her eyes fluttered open.

  She lifted her hand to her head. “What happened?”

  “We wrecked.” I shoved the gun back in my waistband. “We need to get moving.”

  I reached up to where Lane hung suspended in air and shook her shoulder. “Lane. Wake up.”

  Her head moved, but she didn’t make a sound.

  I turned my focus to Lisa. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She still had her hand pressed against her forehead. “The air bag slammed into me. It hurt like hell.”

  “Better than going through the windshield,” I said, already reaching for Lane again. “Get your belt undone and give me a hand. She’s out cold.”

  Lisa’s nod was slow, but she was with it enough to follow my orders and undo her belt. Once she had, she stood on wobbly legs, lifting her arms to help brace Lane’s fall when I undid her buckle. We worked together as an awkward team, me climbing to the front so I could help Lisa with the still unconscious Lane, then each of us taking an arm and dragging her toward the missing windshield.

  The boy had stepped back and was waiting for us, his gaze darting from the truck to something in the distance.

  “Come on,” he said, waving. “Hurry.”

  I didn’t bother telling him I was doing my best.

  Lisa ducked out first, pulling Lane with her while I shoved, and I emerged a few seconds later, squinting from the bright sun. Lane was on the ground, her eyes closed and still unmoving, and I turned to face Lisa only to find her hands raised.

  I blinked, the scene suddenly coming into focus. The boy was still there, only now he was armed with a gun, which was pointed at us. Behind him, a group of five other kids, all boys, stood, their own weapons also aimed in our direction. None of them could have been older than sixteen, and two were so small I would have guessed they were closer to eleven, but their tough and unyielding expressions contradicted their ages.

  “Give us any supplies you have,” the boy who’d pretended to be coming to our aid said.

  He stood a few feet in front of the others, almost like he was the leader, which made no sense because he wasn’t the oldest by far. I gauged him to be around fourteen, with a round face that gave off the impression of innocence despite the hard light in his icy blue eyes. Brown hair feathered around his face, a little too long but in a stylish way, and he wore a smirk that could have chilled the most hardened criminal to the bone.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “We. Want. Your. Supplies,” the kid said, repeating his demand in a cold tone.

  “We don’t have anything,” Lisa told him.

  “Bullshit,” one of the other kids said. “No one is stupid enough to drive around without supplies.”

  A moan drifted toward us, carried on the wind, and the ringleader’s smirk grew. “Better hurry.”

  Lane moved and shifted my attention to her. Her eyes fluttered once, twice, then opened. She squinted as she looked around, trying to take in the scene but not seeming to understand it. Not that I was doing any better. I couldn’t figure out where this group of kids had come from or how they’d ended up here at the exact moment we crashed.

  I looked behind me, back toward the truck, then at the road beyond. Something metal was stretched across the pavement, little spikes sticking from it. I’d seen something like this before, in a movie or television show, and instantly recognized it. Police used it when trying to stop a high-speed chase, spreading it across the road where they knew the criminals would run over it.

  That was how our tires had popped.

  I turned my gaze back to the boy. “You set a trap.”

  “It’s more of a toll road than a trap. We stop you, you pay us, we all walk away happy,” he replied in an even tone, as if it all made perfect sense.

  “And if we don’t pay?” Lisa asked.

  The kid turned his pistol on her. “You die.”

  Behind him, his fellow delinquents nodded in approval, expressions of glee on their faces.

  Lane pushed herself up but didn’t stand. She was staring at the kid like she thought she might be dreaming. “You’d kill us?”

  “Depends.” The kid turned his icy glare on her. “You could pay us in other ways.”

  “You’re a child,” I said.

  “Not in this world, sweet tits.”

  His cohorts chortled liked hyenas.

  Another moan sounded, closer this time, and I looked past the boys to the Meijer parking lot. Close to a dozen zombies were stumbling our way, but currently they were still a good distance off.

  I focused on the ringleader. “We honestly don’t have anything. We only ran out to do a quick errand. That’s all.”

  “Then you’ll take us back to your place,” the kid said, his grin stretching wider. “I’m assuming whoever you’re with has something worth trading for. Some food, some ammo, or guns. We get something good, you get your life. Everybody’s happy.”

  “You have to be kidding me,” Lisa said. “We’re not taking you to our group.”

  “I think you will.” The kid whistled, and three of his guys started moving. “Tie them up and get them in the van. We need to move before the dead get here.”

  I took a step back, but before I could decide what to do, someone grabbed me from behind. Before I had time to remember the self-defense techniques Devon had shown me, my gun was ripped from my hand and a foot slammed into the back of my knee. Then I went down. I barely had time to recover from my knees slamming into the pavement before someone was on me, forcing me flat on the ground, my face pressed against the cold road while my hands were pulled behind my back. Once they were secured, I was yanked to my feet, and I found myself surrounded by more boys. They must have been hiding behind the truck, lying low in case their friends needed backup. I counted twelve in all, but there might have been one or two more, I wasn’t sure. I just knew they were young. Thirteen, fifteen, sixteen at the oldest.

  Lisa was already bound and being dragged away when two boys went to work on Lane. She looked groggy and still a little out of it, but that didn’t stop her from trying to resist, which earned her a kick to the side. She let out an oomph of pain and crumpled over, and a sec
ond later her hands were tied behind her back.

  One of the boys, a tall kid with a baby face and big, brown eyes, pulled me after Lisa.

  That was when I noticed the van—white and unmarked, like something you’d see kidnappers driving in a movie. It had been across the street in the KFC parking lot, but was now on the move, the side door already open and waiting.

  It stopped when it reached us, and the kid escorting Lisa shoved her forward. “Climb in.”

  She did, glancing back at me with wide, terrified eyes. When it was my turn, I got in without having to be told. I needed to talk to Lisa so we could figure out what to do.

  The kid behind the wheel glanced back at me, grinning. “Nice day for a drive.”

  He looked like he was twelve.

  “What are we going to do?” Lisa asked before I could.

  “I was hoping you had an idea.”

  “Nope.” Her gaze flitted to the open door.

  Lane was still a few feet away, stumbling a little like she was in a lot of pain. Before she could reach us, the ringleader appeared at the open door and tossed something inside. A metal thud followed as the tire shredder dropped down beside me, and I scooted away without even knowing why. The kid smiled but said nothing.

  When he turned away, I leaned closer to Lisa and said, “I don’t know that we have a choice. If we don’t tell them where our group is, they could kill us.”

  “And if we tell them? Say they make the exchange, what then? What’s to stop them from showing up a few days later and demanding more payment?”

  She had a point.

  I exhaled, thinking it through as Lane climbed awkwardly in.

  “You okay?” Lisa asked.

  She winced as she tried to get comfortable. “I think I broke a rib.”

  The kid—the leader—climbed into the back with us, and the door slid shut. A second later, another kid—the one who’d kicked Lane—climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. That was it, though. Just the three of us and the three of them. They must have had more vehicles nearby.

  “Where to?” the kid leader asked, his focus on me, his eyes twinkling like he was having a good time.

  I blew out a long breath, considering my options. There weren’t many, but there was one that might work.

  “You have a radio?”

  The kid’s eyebrows lifted. “Radio?”

  “Yeah. We picked a couple up at Meijer a few days ago. If you have one, you can contact our people and tell them where to meet you.”

  “And if I don’t have one?” he asked. “You’re saying you won’t tell me where your place is?”

  “I can’t, and I think you know that. This is a win-win situation. Our people will come, make the trade, and you get your toll. We don’t risk any of our people, and you still hold all the cards.”

  The kid pressed his lips together, silent for a moment. His gaze was still on me when he said, “You got that radio, Trevor?”

  The boy in the passenger seat rooted around on the floor for a second before passing a small black radio to the leader. He didn’t utter a word.

  The kid leader waved it in front of me.

  “Channel four,” I said. “Ask for Devon.”

  Saying nothing, he adjusted the channel then lifted his gaze back to mine, the radio poised in front of his lips when he pressed the button. “I’m looking for Devon.”

  A tense silence followed, but it was broken only a few seconds later by the crackle of static, then by a more than familiar voice. “This is Devon. Who am I talking to?”

  “What are your names?” the kid leader asked me.

  “Kiaya. Lisa. Lane.”

  He pressed the button again. “I have a few people you might know with me. A hot little piece named Kiaya and two older chicks. Looking for a trade.”

  Silence followed the statement once again, longer this time, then there was static and Devon said, “Are they okay?”

  “A little banged up,” the kid said.

  “Prove it,” Devon replied. “Let me talk to Kiaya.”

  He held the radio in front of me, the button down. “Talk.”

  “We’re okay, Devon,” I said.

  “That’s enough.” The kid put the radio in front of his own mouth again. “They’ll be fine, assuming you can get me something good. I’m thinking gas—although I’d need a shit ton in exchange for three hostages. Otherwise, I’ll take a truckload of food or five guns—each one fully loaded and some extra magazines. If you have automatic weapons, I’m willing to go down to three. I won’t bend when it comes to the extra ammo, though.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Devon said into the radio. “It’s going to take me some time to discuss this with my group. Give me an hour and call back.” There was a moment of silence. “And if you touch them, I will gut you. Understand?”

  “They will be delivered unharmed as long as you do as I say,” the kid replied, his grin stretching wider. “If you don’t, I might just have to let my men decide what happens next.”

  “An hour,” Devon growled.

  “An hour,” the kid leader said, still smiling, his gaze still on me.

  Then he turned the radio off and tossed it aside.

  “Drive us somewhere quiet to wait,” he called to the driver, not even looking his way.

  6

  Rowan

  Stretched out on the bed, I stared at the ceiling, my damp hair loose and spread around me. I’d been thrilled to learn I could take a shower, and it had been a welcome distraction. Now that I was clean, though, I couldn’t keep my thoughts from bouncing between choking the life out of Heath and what I would say to my dad when I finally saw him. He knew I was here. He had to be going insane, wondering if I was okay and how I’d gotten home, desperate to know what happened to Mom. How could I tell him she was dead?

  The image of her stumbling down the street popped into my head, and tears sprang to my eyes. I blinked them back as I twisted the rings on my finger around and around. Mom’s wedding rings, which Doug had rescued before burying her—a gesture that touched me more than I would ever be able to express.

  I twisted them as the minutes ticked by, the day moving slower than a caterpillar inching its way across a branch. The occasional undistinguishable noise reached me from far away in the building, but otherwise it was quiet except for the whoosh from the vent on the ceiling and the clock.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  The sound was so soothing that before long, my body began to feel weightless. My eyelids fluttered, but I fought the urge to give in to sleep, prying them open. It couldn’t last, though. Not with the emotions swirling through. Eventually, I would be forced to give in, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure why I was trying to fight it. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do.

  I jerked awake what seemed like seconds later, my heart hammering, my gaze sweeping the room as I tried to remember where I was. It took a moment, thanks to the nightmarish sleep I’d just escaped—I’d been running from a horde of the undead—but then it all came screaming back. Too bad reality wasn’t any more welcoming than my dreamworld had been.

  Working to calm my breathing, I focused on the silence surrounding me, hoping it would help chase away the horror from sleep. That was when I realized what had woken me. There was shouting in the hall. Far away. It was a man. Yelling something over and over again that I couldn’t quite make out.

  In seconds, my heart rate had doubled.

  I sat up, straining to hear as a million possible scenarios went through my head. Zombies had broken through the barrier and were swarming the hospital at this very moment, ripping people apart. Images from the night we’d spent at the Western Motel came screaming back. The blood. Throats ripped out. The wide, blank eyes of the people who’d been killed staring up at me. The feel of my blade sinking into zombie Charlie’s skull.

  I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself as I scanned the room, trying to find something I might be able to
use as a weapon just in case. There was nothing, of course. Heath wouldn’t have left anything dangerous here. To make matters worse, I was trapped. If I left the room, the collar would go off, and there was no way to remove it or deactivate it. I was a sitting duck.

  I jumped from the bed, rushing to shut the door—which was literally my only defense—when it hit me that there were no gunshots even though every adult I’d seen here had been armed. If zombies had raided the hospital, people would be fighting back. But there were no screams, either. Just shouting. One man shouting.

  Pausing at the door, fingers wrapped around the handle even though I no longer thought we were being attacked by a horde, I listened.

  Again, my heart beat faster. The sound was far away, too far to make out the words over the blood rushing in my ears, but the voice… It had to be him! It had to be!

  Stepping as far into the hall as I dared, I looked first to the right and then to the left, but there was no one around. The new position didn’t help the words become any clearer, either, meaning he had to be far away. But I knew I was right. It was my dad. He was yelling, possibly demanding to see me.

  “Dad!” I shouted. “Where are you?”

  My words bounced off the walls, coming back to taunt me, and the shouting stopped. I took it as a cue to try again.

  “Dad! Are you okay?”

  A brief pause, then a barely audible response. “Rowan! Let me see her. Now!”

  Tears sprang to my eyes, and I had to force my feet to stay still because all I wanted to do was charge down the hall.